So Long, Partner
by xlenaleex
Summary: It's 70 years later and Andy needs his friend, just one last time.


Andy sighed as the bed was let back. He was used to the pain by now but every once in a while, he got a sharp reminder that he would never _really_ get used to it until he was dead. Lucky for him then, that that was going to happen soon enough.

"How's that dad?" His daughter's voice said softly in his ear as she tried to fluff his pillows into a position that wasn't going to give any more comfort to the old man lying atop them.

"Fine sweetheart. Thank you."

She smiled at him with sad eyes, but even still Andy could clearly see the ever-growing crow's feet crinkling at the edges that signified that he'd done something right by her. He tried to give her the grin she was used to but his thin lips cracked with the effort and he left the job to the rest of his face.

"Grampa Andy?"

At the sound of the little voice he turned his gaze down towards the smallest of his grandchildren. At just eight years old she had yet to lose her love of toys and stood now with her favorite one, a worn out fluffy seahorse, given to her by her father, because she was going to be a marine biologist one day just like him. She paused for a timid moment before offering the toy to her Grampa.

"You can have Horsey. I always feel better when he's around."

The wavering smile was back and he reached out an equally shaky hand to pet the precious item a few times in gratitude before resting it on her tightly twisted kinky blond head; the color an oddity considering her mother's heritage. Still, the sight of it brought back a memory of a time long ago, when the aunt that she had been named after was still alive, with curly hair the same blonde and a fondness for trying to eat his toys.

"Thanks Molly. Grampa really appreciates that. How about you hang on to him for me. I'd feel better knowing he was taking care of you."

The eight-year-old nodded vigorously before clutching the animal back to her chest and stepping behind her father. Andy looked back up at his two twin boys; all grown up and sporting new salt and pepper facades after decided to forego their J _ust for Men_. They approached the bed together, giving a brief look of commiseration to their sister across the bed before leaning down and surrounding him with their long, gentle arms.

"What do you need dad?" they whispered. "What do you want?"

And Andy didn't know what to tell them. Because there was nothing that he really needed. Nothing that he really wanted. He'd lived a wonderfully full life. At 91 he'd outlived everyone but his children. His wife had gone just a few years ago, when she lost a battle with pneumonia. His sister had gone several years before that, another victim of cancer. Most of his friends had also gone ahead and those that were left would be following soon enough.

He knew he wouldn't be around much longer. Could feel it in the heaviness of his breath, and the settling of the air on his bones. Though bitter for those he would leave behind he knew his departure would be sweet freedom; a release of the weight that was living.

He'd said and been given all of his goodbyes. All but the ones left hovering over him, filling the eyes of those most precious to him. It was hard for them. To let go. But he knew they would be alright. He'd given them all the time he could. All the time he wasn't afforded growing up. He could give them no more. And likewise, wanted nothing more either. He opened his mouth to tell them so and faltered as an image of his very first friend came to mind. But he shook the memory away. Most likely he was gone as well. Still…

"I had a toy once." He started. "First friend I ever had. His name was…" He trailed off at the dubious, worried looks on his sons faces. No doubt they thought he'd slipped back into a moment of senility. And that was fair enough. He was sure he'd had enough of them for that to be a valid concern. Still, it hurt a little and he blinked away the tears that had started to come _much_ too easily the older he got. With a breath, he steadied himself and resettled the weight.

"Nothing." He told them eventually making sure to give them each a loving pat. The dolor on their faces erased any lingering hurt their previous skepticism had wrought. He almost chuckled at their contrite faces. He was so very lucky, to have been so loved.

Making the effort he smiled then, _almost_ reaching the full grin they were used to.

"Nothing." He repeated with what he hoped was tranquility. It was the truth at any rate. He was so very, very content.

Andy made it through that night. And the next. And as the moon rose outside his hospice window he understood that this night would be his last. His sons and their families had left for California the day before; back to Santa Barbara and the ocean there. His daughter had only just left a handful of hours ago, and he thought perhaps that she had felt it too, for she'd left silent tears on his face and filled his ears and heart with half-whispered declarations of love before she finally departed.

Turning his head, he looked over at the worn-out cowboy hat that she'd pulled out when she first arrived. He'd forgotten all about that hat when he'd left for college, but his mother had brought it back out when his daughter was five, a ribbon tied around the base. He'd thought it been lost again in the years after, as his children grew up and left the house; but somehow, she had found it and brought it back to him. His smile had shown her how much he appreciated the effort.

It figured that now, after she had gone and the grounds were quiet that he'd suddenly get an urge to put it on. But it was out of reach, and he was too old and tired to even think about trying to sit up and reach for it. So, he settled on looking at it fondly from afar.

His reminiscing was interrupted when he heard movement outside the window. He'd asked the nurse to leave them open so that he could stare at the sky and now turned to see a figure stumbling through the shrubbery and what looked like, straight towards his sliding door. As he was in a gated facility he wasn't quite sure how they'd gotten in, and grew amazed as whoever it was grew closer and closer until they were right upon the glass before stopping to look at a scrap of paper. He thought he should be afraid, but found he wasn't overly concerned as he watched the figure look back up and peer into his room. A flash of white teeth alerted him to a smile and suddenly the door was being tugged open. It wasn't as if he kept it locked. He knew no one would ever come in through there. Except that now someone was and he realized belated that perhaps he should have kept it locked.

Still, he was a tired old man on the cusp of death and found the interruption to his departure baffling and on the verge of being annoying.

"Hello?" He greeted the stranger in question.

"Good night!" they whispered back, pulling the scarfs from their head to reveal a face that he barely remembered from long ago.

"Bonnie?" he asked incredulously.

"Hey Andy!"

Their conversation was cut short as voices alerted them to a commotion in the hall.

"Uh oh. Just a second. Be right back."

She shuffled back through the doors, shutting them soundly before disappearing into the shrubbery once more. Not long after his door opened and a nurse entered.

"Sorry to bother you Mister Davis. We've had a bit of a security issue but it's nothing to be worried about. I hope we didn't wake you up."

"No, no. It's alright." He reassured as the nurse began looking around the room.

"You haven't seen anyone or anything _strange,_ have you?" the nurse asked, briefly opening Andy's lone closet before shutting it and making his way to the door. He frowned when he saw it was unlocked and then moved to lock it with a firm tug afterwards.

"Yes." Andy told the truth. "But then again, they keep telling me that's not a good thing."

The man smiled and walked over to briefly check his vitals. They shared a knowing look, one filled with silent support and sadness, the other filled with appreciation and resolve. Soon enough though the nurse was finished with his perusal and turned to head out.

"Well, let us know if you hear anything." He said gesturing to the call button just an inch away from Andy's hand. "Have a good night Mister Davis."

"I'm sure I will." Andy muttered as the door was closed. He waited a moment before turning his attention back to the sliding door. A short time later the rustles began and Bonnie reappeared. She tried the door and he couldn't help but laugh at her look of frustration, wondering if perhaps he should have made up some excuse for the guard to leave it open, but then, wouldn't that have alerted them that something was up?

As it turned out he didn't have to worry as he watched Bonnie pull something out of her pocket. Several fiddles later the latch sprung apart and she slid the door open; this time entering with a rather large bag on her shoulder.

"Did you just pick that lock?"

"I sure did." She announced proudly, dropping the bag by his bed and going to pull a chair over. "Haven't done that in 30 years, but an old lady's still got it!"

"Old lady?" Andy scoffed. "You're barely nearing 80. You looked spry enough crashing through my bushes a moment ago. Reliving the glory days?"

"Never stopped!"

Huffing she finally plopped down in the seat, taking a moment to catch her breath and get a good look at him. He also took the chance to study her. Though she'd changed a lot since she was a girl she really hadn't changed at all. Adventurous and whimsical as she'd been back then, she was still the same, more so now that she had a life of let downs and heart ache enough to strip her innocence away, but enough years and experience to teach her how to reclaim it. He had to admit, it looked good on her.

"Andrew Davis." She announced suddenly. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"Not particularly. Though I'm not complaining." He confessed with intrigue and felt a smile tug at his lips when she beamed at him.

"I came to say and give your last goodbye."

There was a small silence as he waited for more, but when it wasn't forthcoming he took a deep breath and replied, "Alright. Thanks."

"Not yet, Andy." She scolded. "Not yet. But soon."

It was a pleasant conversation. Hearing about all the adventures Bonnie had experienced reinvigorated him for a short while. She truly was a remarkable person. She'd actually been parachuting when she'd gotten the call. Andy almost couldn't believe it. Parachuting, at her age. She was truly a remarkable human being.

But eventually Andy grew tired again and the conversation lulled into a companionable silence. He found it hard to keep his eyes open and they gradually slipped shut.

"Oh, no you don't." Bonnie scolded. Her lively voice jolting him awake. "Not until I finish what I came here to do."

"And just what did you come here to do?" he asked clearing his throat.

"I told you. To say and give your last goodbye. I've just about finished with the saying. Only really one more thing to say."

At this she pulled herself up out of the chair; Andy wincing in sympathy pains as her joints cracked and popped. She shuffled over to him and leaned down until her big brown orbs were hovering right over his; still as bright as the first time he'd set his eyes on them.

"Thank you for the joy you left me that day. I'll never forget it." She whispered, breath huffing onto his face and making his nose hairs tickle. "Goodbye Andy."

Such a simple and sweet goodbye had his lips quivering once more as they tried to rise into a warm smile. He reached his hand up to touch her face and she grabbed it with her own. Holding it tightly between her palms before setting it down with a pat.

"And now! For the giving."

Before he could ask what she meant, she reached into her bag and pulled out what he immediately recognized as one of his old toys. Mr. Potato Head. Except he was missing an eye, an ear, both arms, and his hat. A dent in the side also disfigured the toy, but somehow, he still knew it for his own and reached for it even as Bonnie placed it carefully next to his hand.

"He's lost a few parts along the way." She explained. "I looked for them but…well… sometimes things just get lost. I thought about not bringing him but-."

"No. Thank you." He whispered, fondly running his thumb over the empty eye socket. She gave him a moment before reaching into her bag yet again.

"Rex!" he chuckled, taking Mr. Potato Head into his other hand in order to grab onto the green dinosaur. "He hasn't changed at all."

"Sturdy that one." Bonnie agreed. "You'll be happy to know he survived my Reptar stage brilliantly."

He laughed at the mention of the other green dinosaur while running his hands along the old toy, slightly distracted by the smooth parts of Rex's frame that signaled wearing down from years of play. He caught Bonnie reaching into the bag again and wondered just how many of his old toys that she'd brought with her. A pang of excitement hit him at the possibilities that she would have his favorite and his eyes fixed on the bag as she pulled out the third item.

He gently set aside the previous toys and reached both hands out to grab Bullseye and Jesse respectively. Most of the horse's felt had rubbed off and Jessie's pigtails had been untied and shorn off unto an uneven bob. He looked at Bonnie with a raised brow.

"It wasn't me." She defended. "It was my daughter. She's very fashionable you know."

"Of course," He agreed fingering the shorn-frayed edges. "I like it." And he did. It made the doll look a bit more grown up. Like a real sheriff. On the other hand, Bullseye's dyed pick tail made him look like a unicorn, but Andy wasn't going to complain. He was just happy to see them. Still, there was one toy he wanted to see more than any other and he turned back to Bonnie as she reached her hand yet again into the depths of her bag.

Both doll and horse are set aside as his old Buzz is placed in his hands. Tears begin to build behind his eyes at the sight of scuffed old toy. He realizes the helmet has been broken when he pushes the button to engage it and nothing happens. But that's okay. Buzz had been his first new toy after the divorce. He'd gotten a lot of the things he wanted that year. He still wondered how his mother had managed to pull it off. She'd worked so hard for him and Molly that even though they were moving to a smaller house, it didn't feel smaller. Their life had never felt smaller without him…His dad. Buzz had been the start of something new. Something different. Proof that he could make it. That _they_ could make it. And for that, the toy would always have a special place in his heart.

He fingered the little pad on the arm, the cover long since broken off, the original design covered with blue and pick and gold. That year had been their first Christmas without his dad. But it had been a good one. He'd gotten Buster that year too.

"I'm sorry I don't have more." Bonnie's voice brought him back to his little room in his little bed, now filled with toys. "Some of them, despite my best efforts, didn't make it. Hamm… he was broken when my mother dropped him while trying to get my years' worth of change out of him. Slinky was done in by my son. He was so tangled Andy. I'd never seen anything like it. In the end, there was nothing left to do except pitch him. I'm not really sure whatever happened to Mrs. Potato Head."

And as much as Andy would have liked to have seen those old toys too, he was more disturbed by her lack of the mention of Woody than her description of the others' demises.

"What about my cowboy?" he near whispered. Too afraid to hear the answer, too hopeful not to ask.

"I looked everywhere for him Andy." She sighed. "He was one of my favorites too, ever since I saw him hanging on that tree. I made sure to pack him up after my kids were grown. I unpacked him for grandkids and then packed him back up when they too became too old. I even moved him out of the attic and into the condo with me. I was so sure…but when I went to get him…. well… he was gone."

The disappointment settled onto Andy like a stone. The happy tears wobbling at the edges of his eyes from seeing Buzz now overflowed down his cheeks in sadness. He looked up at her then, trying to reassure her, knowing he was failing. He wondered if this was how she had felt when she too realized, just for a moment, that she wouldn't be getting Woody all those years ago.

"It's alright." He managed through a tight throat. Forcing the tears to stop. "You've already done so much by bringing these here." He croaked indicating the toys around him. "I really couldn't ask for more. I'm comforted by the thought that he was loved just as much as me. And you're right. Sometimes, things just get lost."

He looked away then, still holding his Buzz in one hand and periodically fingering the rest with soft strokes filled with affection.

"Thank you." He whispered, glancing back up at her, but she didn't respond. Only stared at him with what he could only describe as a Bonnie smile; eyes twinkling, mouth smirking in a shy way.

"Sometimes I think that toys are alive."

He wasn't sure how to answer that. It was a very Bonnie thought after all. Abrupt. She always did let her imagination run wild. Then again, hadn't he too? Long ago, when he was still young enough to believe it. Perhaps Bonnie was on to something. Perhaps he should try to believe again. After all, hadn't his toys come back to him?

"Yea?" he asked watching Jessie's eyes closely. "What makes you say that?"

"Because Andy. I've noticed throughout my many years that they always end up where you need them most. Don't you find that strange?"

Andy thought back on his childhood. He wanted to protest. There were _some_ times when they most _definitely_ weren't where he needed them. But they had always come back hadn't they? Especially, moving day. He'd helped his mother pack that box. He _knew_ Woody and Buzz shouldn't have been there, and yet there they were. Right where he needed them to be.

"Not strange." He finally responded. "But rather very, very welcome."

Leaning back, he felt his eyes get heavy again. In the silence his blinks became longer. He vaguely heard her get up and piddle about the room. Something soft brushed his hand.

"Don't go just yet Andy. I have one more gift for you." Once again Bonnie's voice pulled him from the edge of sleep, and something deeper. "I found him on the sidewalk. If you can believe it." The words came to him slow, as if coming to him from underwater and he struggled to pull himself into full consciousness. "Not just any sidewalk Andy. The one right outside your rooms. Right there."

She pointed towards the sliding back door that she had come through earlier. His brows furrowed. He wasn't sure what she was talking about.

"I think he _is_ alive. I think they all are. And I think this one, in particular, loved you just as much as you loved him. I think he came to say goodbye to the boy whose name is written across his shoe."

His eyes shot to her bag. He blinked once, and suddenly Woody was there in her hands. That face he knew so well coming towards him. He took Woody from her with hands shaking not only from the years they had seen, but from the effort of being gentle when all they wanted to do crush the doll to his chest.

He had a moment of clarity to look upon Woody. The cowboy had seen a generation of love and it showed in the scuffed face. The patched and re-patched arms, legs and knee. He'd lost his sheriff badge and his pull string had been ripped out but it was Woody. He flipped up one limp shoe to see his name there, black ink long faded but somehow still imprinted, as if into plastic itself. _His_ Woody.

The tears came then, blurring out his sight and he had to use his hands to feel the large eyes that he had always imagined were so full of warmth and support. Stuffy chest that held remnants of the tears that had soaked it the day his father left. Little hands that had always been open to him and the little feet that bore physical proof of Andy's love. And the hat. The hat that had managed to make it through a lifetime of trials. A hat similar to his own, one that connected them even now.

He looked up to thank Bonnie. To let her know just how much her visit meant to him, but she was gone. A thin opening in the sliding door the only mark of her retreat. That's when he noticed that the hat that had been on the table was now lying next to him, brushing his arm softly. She'd moved it for him. Placed it within his reach before she had left.

He did smile then. A wide, ugly, poignant, joyous, quivering smile as he reached out to place the old hat on his head before turning back to Woody. They'd been through so much together. He wasn't ashamed to say that he had missed his cowboy throughout the years. Would sometimes go looking for him through his things in the attic before remembering that the toy wouldn't be there. He'd even found another Woody doll in a thrift store and bought it for his daughter when she was just a girl. But it hadn't been the same, because it hadn't been _his_ Woody that looked back at him.

He rested the doll against his chest, one hand lain across it protectively, while the other fingered Buzz, Jesse, Bullseye, Rex and Mr. Potato Head. His eyes grew heavy once more with fatigue, helped along by emotion, and as they slowly slipped closed he knew they wouldn't open again. But he was okay with that. There was nothing to be afraid of after all. Not when you went in the arms of your best friend. And as if carried by a strange wind he thought he heard a voice as he drifted off. It sounded wholly strange and familiar all at once. The words, his very last goodbye, seemed to act as the key that finally released Andy from the weight of this life and sent him quietly drifting into the next.

"So long, partner."


End file.
